


The Hell Season

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Series: Hell Season [1]
Category: 2002 (Hong Kong movie)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-04
Updated: 2007-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the movie. Freak weather hits Hong Kong, and the ghosts are unusually quiet, but Chiu finds himself increasingly distracted by the mysterious 'Matron' -- and by his partner, Fung.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hell Season

It hadn't rained in two weeks. There was no end in sight for the freak dry spell, and the news predicted dire consequences for the city. Water was life blood: to be without it was unnatural. There had been five major fires, causes unknown, and the scent of smoke hung over the city in the desiccated air. It was a hell season, Paper Chan said, shaking his head and consulting his fortune books. Hong Kong hadn't experienced one in decades, and the last one... Chan shook his head again and refused to elaborate.

Chiu shrugged it off. "You know he likes to scare us," he muttered, casting Chan an annoyed glare from the doorway of Chan's paper offerings shop.

Fung looked up at the windless, smoky sky and wrinkled his nose. "I know. But I can feel something around us. Can't you feel it? Like another world is pressing into this one."

Chiu glanced at Fung uneasily. He had been aware of something new in the air, something unusual and distracting, but he couldn't determine if it was malevolent or not. That Fung could feel it too filled him with dread. If it was this pervasive, it couldn't be anything harmless.

"You listen to him!" Chan scolded, stabbing the air with his finger. "He's sensible. You--" He grimaced and gestured. "You think just because you cheated fate once, you're untouchable. Think you can have everything. You can't. That death star on your hand hasn't gone away," he said darkly, and without thinking, Chiu looked down at his palm and the bad luck spot there.

Chan gave an evil chuckle. "You see? You'll listen?"

Chiu shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I don't think everything's changed," he said just a bit too loudly, because he wasn't sure if it were true. Fung had died but had been resurrected, and Special Unit 2002 had been a two-man partnership ever since. No ghosts recruited, no matter how many lurked around Chan's shop offering their services. They had changed fate, and Chiu was getting used to living a real life -- with love and friends.

Fung patted Chiu's shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay. Like you said, Chan likes to wind us up." He scowled at Chan. "Besides, the ghosts have been quiet lately, and that's a good sign, isn't it? Maybe it's not a hell season. Maybe it's just global warming."

Chiu raised an eyebrow, and Fung grinned at him. From the shadows in the back of store, Chan said, "Oh, it's a hell season, make no mistake."

Fung raised his wrist to check his watch and ignored him. Chiu watched him and had to smile when he saw Fung's eyes light up. Must be 16:30 already.

"Bakery?" Chiu asked unnecessarily.

Fung grinned and jogged out into the street, waving Chiu on. Chiu shot Chan a parting look, expecting another outburst of gloomy warnings, but Chan disappeared into the back. Chiu strolled down the street in Fung's wake, catching up with him outside the bakery a few streets away.

A week or so after 2002 had defeated the water ghost, Rain's memory had returned, and unfortunately for Fung, she had remembered she had a fiancé, a rich young businessman who'd been away in Europe when Rain had the accident. Chiu had thought Fung would be crushed, but he took it in stride, even driving her to the fiancé's mansion (appropriating the department's car) so they could be reunited. Afterwards, all he could talk about was how beautiful the mansion was, how handsome the fiancé was, how lucky Rain was.

Chiu worried he'd lost his mind. "I thought she was the love of your life."

Fung shrugged. "It wasn't her."

Less than a month later, he'd found a new love, a girl who worked in a bakery close to Chan's shop. Betty was pretty and sweet, with a warm smile, and had an embarrassing laugh that Fung adored. Chiu liked her well enough, but Fung's doting -- bordering on stalking, in Chiu's opinion -- meant daily visits to the bakery. Their flat was filled with pastries, more than anyone could eat. For a while Chiu had been secretly offering them to a trio of fat, jolly ghosts around the corner from Chan's shop, but when the weather had changed, the ghosts had stopped coming.

Fung was right about that, Chiu reflected as he neared the bakery. The ghosts had been very quiet lately. Unit 2002 hadn't been called in for a serious case in weeks. Some of the precinct heads were questioning the necessity of 2002 again. Chiu felt a sense of foreboding, but he was skeptical of the "hell season." What was worse than walking between life and death in order to save your friend? Worse than having to kill him to save him? If he'd cheated fate, Chiu thought he'd earned the right to be a little skeptical.

When he joined them, Fung was perched on the counter while Betty filled a box with the day's unsold pastries. Annoyingly, Fung was telling her of Chiu's allergic reaction to a banana-cream éclair, describing the physical symptoms in great detail. Betty's sympathy wavered under the force of Fung's comic storytelling, complete with sound effects and miming, and she burst into laughter that ended in a pig-like snorting. Fung laughed with her, looking lovestruck, and Chiu rolled his eyes and went to wait outside.

He leaned against the bakery window and peered back inside. Now Fung was leaning over the counter to point out something to Betty, who crouched to reach for the lower shelf. Their heads were close together. _She likes you, you idiot_, Chiu willed at Fung. _Make your move_.

He turned around to give them their privacy, and standing before him was a tall old woman with a very long grey braid hanging over her shoulder. She looked down her nose at him and asked, "Are you the inspector?"

"Yes, auntie," he replied respectfully.

She seemed pleased and shrank a little and looked him over. "I shouldn't even be here," she said. "I was supposed to go to Shenzhen to live with my son." She sighed. "Well, that's how it goes. I didn't like Shenzhen, anyway." It had been over two weeks since Chiu had spoken to a ghost, and he was actually relieved to see one now.

"May I help you, auntie?"

She looked at him suspiciously, then nodded. "I guess you'll do. Grandmother Pat said you were a reliable young man, even if you look like a ne'er-do-well punk."

Chiu frowned and stood up straight and surreptitiously tucked in his shirt. Who was she calling 'punk'? These old lady ghosts could be bothersome.

"I have some information for you. There's going to be another fire tonight. Be at the Tsong Tower before nine o'clock."

"Tsong Tower," he repeated. "Right. I'll let the fire department know. Thanks."

The ghost drew herself up and glared at him. "Don't be like that with me, little boy. If this were a job for the fire department, I'd go haunt one of them."

"The fires are being started by spirits?" he asked, and his pulse raced at the thought that at last, 2002 had real work to do again. Maybe it was another fire ghost, and this time he'd make sure it didn't have a water ghost boyfriend hanging around to make trouble.

The ghost sniffed. "I can't speak to the other fires, only this one. Tsong Tower, tonight, nine o'clock. You won't forget?" She gave him a dubious look, then gazed past him into the bakery. "Is that your partner?"

Chiu nodded, glancing back at Fung, who was helping Betty stack empty pastry trays.

"He looks like he has a kind heart," the ghost said. "Ah, such a shame."

"What do you mean?"

But the ghost was gone as abruptly as she had appeared. Chiu took a few steps out into the street, looking for her. "Auntie? What did you mean?"

"Where's the old lady?" Fung emerged from the bakery carrying two large pink pastry boxes.

Chiu inwardly groaned. "Two this time? You know that the flat has more pastries in it than the bakery? It stinks in there! I'm going to get fat from breathing the fumes."

"I'll throw away the stale ones," Fung said cheerfully, falling into step with him. He leaned close and nudged Chiu with his elbow. "I did it! I asked her out."

"Finally," Chiu muttered under his breath.

"We're going out to dinner tonight. She likes Japanese food, and I heard about a new sushi bar... Is octopus an aphrodisiac?"

Chiu slowed his steps. "Tonight?" He winced. "Not tonight. We have a job."

Fung's crestfallen look lasted mere seconds; the prospect of an important job overshadowed poor Betty. Chiu wanted to feel bad for her, but in truth, he'd rather see his friend excited by the job than mooning over the next love of his life. This side of Fung he could relate to.

Fung shoved the pastry boxes at him. "Wait here. I have to tell Betty. It's really a job?" He grinned and ran back to the bakery. Chiu watched him, a chill he hadn't felt in weeks settling in his gut. _Such a shame_, she'd said. What had the auntie meant?

\-----

They arrived at Tsong Tower, a modern corporate high-rise fringed by a small park, before 21:00 that night. The building had been cleared of people by regular police and the fire department. Not knowing the powers of spirits they were dealing with, Chiu had requested that everyone leave the area. The fire trucks and police cars were parked down the hill and around the corner, out of sight. Tsong Tower was empty and dark. Chiu and Fung sat down on a bench in the narrow park and waited for something to happen.

21:00 came and went. Fung stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. "How do you know the old lady was telling the truth?"

Chiu stared up at the office building, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Be patient. Maybe these ghosts don't have watches."

Fung returned to his favorite topic of conversation that night: his plans for his rescheduled date with Betty. He debated with himself over which sweater to wear, and Chiu stopped listening. The longer they waited, the more his adrenaline ebbed. His attention wandered, and he found himself mentally joining Fung's quest for the perfect sweater. He was about to suggest the light blue V-neck when Fung patted his arm and pointed, falling silent.

Chiu saw them, too. In the park, approaching the building, was an orderly line of six ghosts. Chiu's excitement waned as he recognized what they were. He pulled on his gloves.

"They're just children," Fung said in disbelief.

"Chan says children can become the angriest ghosts of all if they were abused or died by violence, especially at the hand of someone they trusted." Chiu watched as the children formed a circle and crouched down; they looked like they were playing a game. "Sometimes, at the moment they die, they understand everything that happened to them, but it's too late. So they become angry ghosts to exact revenge."

"I don't want to shoot a child." Fung slid his hands into his gloves.

"Don't let them fool you," Chiu cautioned. "Child ghosts can be the worst. They didn't have a long human life, so they fight hard for their spirit life." He paused, watching the children in their circle. It didn't look like they were doing anything at all. He couldn't blame Fung for his reluctance; he hated fighting child ghosts, too.

He sighed and said, "Sam could deal with them. He would fly in and roll around and play with them. Make them laugh. Then he'd ask them to go on their own, and most would." He trailed off, remembering. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fung smiled softly. "You never talk about Sam. A psychologist would say you still haven't resolved your feelings of guilt, and I would have to agree--" He abruptly stopped and nodded past Chiu's shoulder.

Chiu turned around and saw the child ghost hovering over the bench next to them. It was a little girl with long straight hair, wearing a white school uniform shirt and a blue skirt. She raised her head to look at them, and there was a long, ugly gash down one side of her face, from eyelid to chin. It looked like it was still bleeding, and there was another wound in her hair, a deep round fracture. Someone had cut her and bashed her head in. No wonder she was angry.

She smiled serenely at them, which sent a chill down Chiu's spine.

"Little sister," he said, carefully sliding a vial of unveiling drops from his belt, "why are you here?"

The girl looked over at the circle of children. "I came to watch my friends. But I'm bored now, and hungry. Do you have any candy?"

Chiu had the vial in his palm. "No, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with hoarseness.

Fung gripped his wrist, staying his hand. "Wait, I have an idea," he whispered. "Don't do anything until I come back."

"Come back?" Chiu swung around to see Fung hurrying off into the street. "Where are you going?!" he called after him.

When he turned around, the girl ghost was closer, pointing to the other children. They stood up and separated, going to different points around the building. Chiu could see flames in their hands. Small flames, weak so far. He stood up, looking around for Fung, and with a snarl of disgust strode toward the building, clutching the unveiling drops in one hand and reaching for his gun with the other.

A few metres away from the nearest boy, he heard Fung shout, "Wait!" behind him. He stopped and waited, keeping an eye on the boy, whose flames now reached to his chin. Child ghosts had a lot of energy and emotion, but not a lot of power. The boy was drawing on something to make his flames grow, but what? Chiu glanced at the other children, a terrible answer forming.

Fung caught up with him, and he was carrying a pink box. Chiu stared at him, convinced Fung had finally lost whatever senses he'd ever had, but Fung shook his head and kept moving, approaching the little ghost boy.

"Little brother," he greeted, crouching down next to the ghost and opening the box. "Do you want a sweet?"

The ghost boy looked into the box and nodded. "Yes!" he said through a gap-toothed grin.

Fung took off his gloves. "This one looks good, doesn't it?" he said, selecting a pineapple bun. He set it carefully on the ground, offering it to the ghost. The boy reached for it, directing his flames toward the bun. Fire consumed it, and it reappeared in the boy's flameless hands. The boy took a big bite from it.

"Give me some of those." Chiu scooped some pastries from the box and hurried to the other side of the building. Together, he and Fung fed the six children, and drew them together in a group, away from the building. There were enough pastries for seconds for everyone, and the children squabbled among themselves over their selections. Fung got cream on his nose lifting one from the box and they laughed with him. They were just like ordinary children now, if you could ignore their scars, bruises, and wounds.

"Little ones, you should move on," Fung told them. "It's no fun here. It's just a boring building, and there's no place to play."

"Will you come with us?" a little girl holding a taro bun asked.

"Not yet, little sister. But if you all go together, you'll have each other to play with."

A few of them nodded, and they all held hands. "Bye bye," the little gap-toothed boy said. A golden glow spread over them, and they were gone.

Chiu rested his hands on his hips and looked at Fung. "Where did you get those?"

"From the car," Fung said, closing the pastry box.

"You brought pastries with us to the job?"

"I thought we might get hungry."

As impressed as Chiu was with the way Fung had handled the children, he wasn't about to admit it, least of all to Fung, who was more irritating when he was confident than when he was scared.

"I got the idea from what the girl said," Fung was saying. "The girl." He stopped.

The ghost girl with the gashed face hovered in front of the bench. She didn't look angry, but Chiu felt a wave of malevolence spreading from her. He rested his hand over the vials of unveiling drops.

"Where's mine?" she demanded. "I'm hungry!"

Fung crouched down and opened the box. "There are some left, look. Which ones do you like?"

The girl moved closer, staring into the box, biting her lower lip.

"Little sister," Chiu said. "Why did your friends come here tonight? Why this building?"

"Ask Matron," the girl said, casting him a dirty look that startled him. Then she turned to Fung and screamed, "I want them all!"

Thick flames shot from her hands to the box. Fung fell back as it burst into fire. Chiu grabbed his arms and hauled him away. When he looked again, the girl was gone. They stamped out the fire with their boots, but Chiu had a bad feeling that the job had not been as successful as it seemed.

And unfortunately, Fung had not dropped the subject of Sam. In the car, he said again, "You never talk about Sam. That's not right. You were partners for a long time. It's not natural to never mention him."

Chiu chewed on his lip and stared at the road. "Maybe I'm just sparing your feelings. I don't want you to know how much better Sam was than you."

"No, it can't be that," Fung said easily. "You still feel guilty for his death. Sam forgave you and moved on, but you can't forgive yourself. It's bad to be carrying that around with you the rest of your life."

"You're very annoying," Chiu muttered.

"Sure, you may think that. But listen. Sam's moved on, and you haven't, and that's why you won't talk about him. Sam's living his new life now. Hey, maybe you should try to find him. Maybe he's a beautiful woman this time. Wouldn't that be cool?"

Chiu shot him a look. "How could he be a beautiful woman already? He'd just be a baby. Besides, he won't remember me in his new life."

"Oh, that's true," Fung said. "Say, what do you think the little girl meant about asking Matron?"

"How should I know?" Chiu shot back, wishing Fung would just shut up about everything for a while. He hated knowing, deep down, that Fung was right about Sam, and he hated even more that Fung knew he was right.

\-----

The next morning, he went to see Paper Chan. He found him in his Western goods gift shop, wearing his toupé and a snappy Western-style suit. He was waving and smiling at a departing customer when Chiu entered. Seeing Chiu, his smile disappeared.

"You're back again? You won't listen to me, so go away."

Chiu picked up a gaudy porcelain statuette and pretended to study it. "Did you hear about last night? Fung and I stopped them from burning down Tsong Tower."

"So what? You want a medal? Put that down."

Chiu turned the statuette over and saw the price sticker. "For this? You're gouging your customers."

"If they don't pay a lot, they think they're getting crap."

"It is crap," Chiu pointed out, setting the statuette aside. "Listen. The ghosts last night were children."

This caught Chan's interest. "All of them?"

"Yes. We convinced most of them to move on--" Fung had done the convincing, but Fung wasn't here to correct him. "--but one girl remained, and I don't think she's gone. When I asked her why they wanted to burn down the building, she said, 'ask Matron'. What does that mean?"

Chan made an impatient gesture. "Do I know? You're the cop, you figure it out. Remember how to do ordinary police work? But about these children... That's very interesting. I'll have to look it up. I'm sure it must be another sign of hell season."

Chiu rolled his eyes. "Don't bring that up again." He'd wanted to ask Chan about the ghost children, and his theory that they were increasing their power by banding together, but now Chan was off on his hell season warnings, and Chiu tuned him out. He followed Chan through the back corridor that connected the two shops and helped Chan change into his Chinese clothes.

"Hi, Yim," Chiu greeted the young ghost keeping watch by the doorway. A shoplifter in life, Yim devoted his afterlife to guarding stores, though Chiu suspected he was trying to find ways to pocket some worldly goods. Yim always looked guilty when he saw Chiu, and he disappeared without a word.

Chan flipped through his fortune books, saying, "So Fung got them to move on? I told you he would be fine, once you gave him some time."

"You did not." Chiu frowned. "And how do you know it was Fung?"

Chan simply gave him a withering look and went back to consulting his books. Chiu stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and paced to the doorway.

"About Fung... Yesterday this old lady ghost said it was a shame about him. I wonder what she meant by that."

Chan put down the book he was holding. "Yes, there's something different about him since the resurrection. I don't think most ghosts like him very much now. Dogs, too, have you noticed? Dogs don't like him at all."

Chiu hadn't noticed, actually, and didn't want to ponder it. He stared out at the street, and prickles of heat gathered at the back of his neck and base of his spine. The air was stiff and carried a sickly sweet smell. He wished it would rain.

"But what does it mean?" he asked, more to himself than to Chan. "I thought that fated-to-die stuff was over."

"Everyone is fated to die," Chan said simply. "The old lady could've meant anything by it. You should forget what she said. It's not important. This is a hell season, and you need to concentrate. No distractions. How is Danielle, by the way?"

Chiu jerked his head around, and Chan smiled mildly. Chiu glared at him. "I have to go," he said, heading off down the street.

Truth was, he wished he could talk about Danielle to someone, but not to Chan, who was only going to nag him. So many times, Chiu had almost opened up to Fung -- it was surprisingly easy to talk to Fung when Fung wasn't lecturing him or sighing over Betty -- but he always held back and changed his mind. He supposed Fung would say it was psychological. He couldn't talk about Danielle because his feelings were too confused.

On the surface, his relationship with Danielle was great. They dated, they touched, they made each other laugh, and the burden of fear -- of knowing that he could love someone and they didn't have to die -- had lifted completely. Danielle was perfect: smart, feminine, committed to her career but fun-loving. She knew what she wanted in life, but was generous in giving to others.

Chiu had never trusted perfection. In his life, whenever things were the best was when tragedy struck. He couldn't shake off his wariness and mistrust so quickly, and worst of all, he knew he was holding back on Danielle. Not opening up, not explaining everything about Unit 2002 or about their first date, when he'd walked between worlds. He told himself it was because he wanted to protect her from the danger and fear of his job, but was that all? He wasn't sure, and wished there were someone he could ask.

\-----

Fung caught up with him at the precinct, carrying a small bag from Betty's bakery. He slid into a chair next to the desk, exaggeratedly looking over things.

 

"You can use a computer?" he teased. "You can type?" He leaned over and murmured, "Are you sure you should be here? Won't it ruin your image? Maybe I should bring in a wind machine and lower the lights. And get you a laptop. A laptop would be cooler."

Chiu shot him a look. "What's in the bag?"

"Pork bun," Fung said, dropping it onto the desk. "I thought you might be hungry." He moved behind Chiu and leaned over his shoulder, peering at the screen. "What are you looking up?"

"Tsong Tower." Chiu tried to ignore this invasion of his personal space and the smells of baked goods wafting from him. "So far, I haven't found any connection to children. It's just an office building, named for the developer who built it: Eddie Tsong."

"The billionaire on his third wife?" Fung gave a low whistle. "Maybe it's revenge on him. Did he have kids?"

"He has a son, but the son's grown up. He runs Tsong's business in Singapore. It's a dead end." Chiu sat back, forgetting that this was putting himself into Fung's arms. Thankfully, after a tactful hesitation, Fung moved to sit on the desk. He picked up a ball of rubber bands and tossed it from hand to hand.

"Well... What about before? What was on the land before Tsong Tower?"

Chiu was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of this angle himself. Maybe Chan was right that it had been too long since he'd done real police work. "I don't know if that can be the connection," he said, typing in another data search. "Those kids were too young. The tower's been there for at least ten years."

"You're probably right," Fung said, tossing the rubber-band ball into the air and catching it. "It was just an idea. Hey, are you okay for dinner tonight? I'm going out with Betty, and I didn't have time to make you anything."

Chiu glanced at him in disbelief. Much as he appreciated Fung's excellent cooking, he'd never expected it to become a nightly tradition. Certainly not on a night when Fung had his big date.

"I'll be fine. We have a flat full of pork buns and sponge cakes, remember?"

Fung grinned and slipped from the desk. "Okay, well, if you need me, you have my mobile number. But try not to need me. Unless there's a big job or something. Well, bye bye."

Chiu watched him nearly trip over himself on the way out. Poor Betty, he thought, returning to his searches.

\-----

Danielle was working the night shift at the hospital, so Chiu spent the evening alone and dozed off on the sofa while watching a video. When he jolted awake, the television was static and the flat was dark, and there was someone next to him on the sofa. He turned around cautiously.

It was the tall old lady with the long braid, but half her face had been ripped away and glowed green. Only another spirit could do that kind of damage to a ghost.

"She knows," the auntie wailed. "She knows I told you about the fire. She's so angry. It hurts so much. Help me!" She reached out for him, and Chiu backed off the sofa.

"Help me!" she cried again, floating toward him, her body contorting unnaturally.

Chiu reached into the closet for his uniform, found a vial of unveiling drops and his gun.

"I'm sorry, auntie," he said, tossing the vial at her. Her shadows gathered substance, and she was a frail old woman again, but her face still gaped horribly. With one eye, she pleaded with him for her final death. He cringed and aimed the gun, felt the sharp prick of the blood needle in his finger, and fired. The ghost was gone, dissipated. Chiu grabbed his jacket and sought out Paper Chan.

"Who was she talking about? Could it be the little girl? She felt so evil, but not angry. Maybe I should have shot her when I first saw her..." He paced from one end of the store to the other.

"A child ghost wouldn't be able to do such damage to an adult," Chan said, fashioning a flower out of paper.

"But if these children could somehow bring all their power together--"

"But the children are gone. Only the little girl was left, and she may have moved on, too."

Chiu let out an exasperated sigh. Why couldn't Chan understand? There might be more children out there, with the evil ghost girl as their leader, drawing on their power to torture old auntie. What else might she do? And Chan just sat there, calmly making useless paper flowers.

"Chiu, ask yourself this: if the girl ghost is so angry that you stopped the children from setting Tsong Tower on fire, why did she use so much power to torture the old lady, instead of returning to the tower and setting it on fire herself? There are more things at work here than we know. We don't have a complete picture, and it's a hell season. Very dangerous to pursue one path, when others may be opening. Where's Fung?"

Chiu looked up, taken aback by the change in topic after Chan had given him much to consider. "He's on a date. He finally asked Betty out."

"And you let him go?" Chan stood up, throwing the flower he'd just made to the floor. "Are you stupid? It's hell season! Relationships begun during hell season will end horribly. You have to find him before it's too late!"

Chiu blinked at the man. Tell him about a ghost with half her face ripped apart, and he couldn't care less. Tell him Fung was on a date, and he exploded. This hell season business had warped his mind.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," Chiu said, backing out of the store.

He had no idea where to look. Fung had told him which restaurant they were going to, of course, at least half a dozen times, but Chiu hadn't cared and hadn't paid attention. All he knew was that it was a sushi bar. He checked a few that he knew, and decided to go back to the flat and check the phone book or see if Fung had left any clues. He couldn't see the urgency, frankly, but Chan had been so alarmed, Chiu couldn't completely ignore it. The auntie's words came back to him: _Such a shame_.

When he reached the flat, his trepidation evaporated. Fung was there, standing by the sofa with his jacket in his hand.

"You're back. How did it go?" Chiu smiled and acted as if nothing unusual had been going on.

Fung looked at him warily. "It was fun. Betty's a great girl."

Chiu's smile faded. "Then what's wrong? Why are you looking like that?"

"I'm just wondering about this," Fung said, turning his head to look at the far wall. Chiu took a couple of steps and followed his gaze. Scrawled on the wall in what looked like blood were the words, a half-meter tall: _I hate you_.

\-----

Morning light eased into the flat through the large windows. Fung switched off the lights. Chiu sat at the kitchen table resting his chin on his fist and staring into his cup of coffee.

"I didn't write that," he said at last.

"I know," Fung said, sliding into the chair opposite. "You don't hate me, and besides, it's your flat, why would you do something like that?" He cast a look back at the far wall. "It's not going to come off, is it?"

They had scrubbed and scraped at the wall for hours, and the words looked just as freshly painted as ever.

Chiu shook his head. "It's blood writing. It won't come off until we find the ghost who wrote it."

"How could a ghost write it? They can't touch walls."

"It possessed someone," Chiu answered, not looking at Fung. They both remembered too well how the water ghost had possessed Fung and the things it had made him do.

"We should tell Chan," Fung said.

"No." Chiu looked up. He didn't feel like dealing with Chan just now. "No, tell me about your date. Did it really go okay?"

Fung smiled. "Yeah, I think she likes me. She wore a pink blouse with a denim skirt, and ate a lot of octopus sushi, and I found out that her favorite color is purple and she loves American pop music. What do you think?"

"Match made in heaven," Chiu said with a smile, sipping his coffee.

"Well, I don't know... But she's very nice, and said she'd go out with me again." Fung toyed with a spoon on the table.

"There you go." Chiu yawned and sat back, closing his eyes and listening to Fung talk about Betty, his attention drifting until the words, "... and I told her we could go on a double date ..." penetrated his drowsiness. He opened his eyes.

"You told her what?"

Fung was in the midst of taking a drink from Chiu's coffee cup. He swallowed and said breezily, "A double date. Me and Betty, you and Danielle. Don't glower at me like that. I'm not scared of you. What's wrong with a double date?"

Chiu stood up, clenching his fists at his sides. There was nothing wrong with a double date, nothing at all. And yet, he hated the idea and wanted to pour coffee all over Fung's stupid head.

He jabbed a finger at Fung's forehead instead. "You," he said, "are very annoying."

Fung chuckled.

"I'm going to take a nap," Chiu said, shuffling wearily to the bed. "Don't bother me, and don't include me in any more of your dating plans, okay?"

"But we have work to do," Fung's voice followed him.

"You're second-in-command of 2002, you do the work," Chiu muttered, collapsing onto his bed.

\-----

He woke up in darkness. A little red light flashed nearby, pulsing with the beeping of his cellphone. He reached for it, flipped the cover, and read the text message: _Inexplicable incident at the art museum. Get there fast_. As he closed the cover, he felt that he was not alone. He scanned the dark and saw a shape sitting on the foot of the bed.

"I hate you," it whispered, voice neither male nor female, filled with evil.

Chiu sat up. "Who are you?"

It stood up. Its shape was familiar.

"Fung?" His voice cracked as his mouth went dry.

"Chiu?"

A light went on at the other end of the room. The shape sank back into the shadows and soaked into the wall. A couple of footfalls on the floor and Fung loomed over the bed, holding Chiu's coat.

"Chiu, you awake? We've been called."

Chiu licked his lips and swallowed. "I know."

The "inexplicable incident" seemed more like the work of pranksters. Several statues in the European gallery of the art museum had had their heads cut off and put back facing the wrong way. Security tapes showed no one in the act: one minute the heads were facing the right direction, the next minute they were turned away. The result was almost comic, but neither Chiu nor Fung laughed as they circled the statues, looking for signs of spiritual interference. All they found were drops of red paint spattered over the statue's bodies, and on the floor, in small, childish writing: _I hate you_.

Chiu exchanged a nervous look with Fung. He hadn't told him about the shape on the bed, the shape that had looked like Fung. Fung couldn't be possessed again -- Chiu would be able to tell, surely.

Fung knelt and wiped a finger through the writing on the floor. "Paint," he said. "Still wet. Looks like a child wrote it with his finger." He sat back on his heels. "At least it's not blood writing."

Chiu looked around the empty gallery and the shadowy shapes of statues and giant paintings on the walls. "Why these ones?" he said to himself. He shook his head. "This is ridiculous. There's nothing here. I can't explain what happened, but now it's a job for the museum's cleaning staff, not us."

Fung rose and they left the museum, stepping out into the hot, dry, night air.

"I did some checking," Chiu said as they walked to the car. "I forgot to tell you. Before Tsong Tower was built, that land was just a bank branch. Another dead end, but it wasn't a bad idea. Chan thinks it's not important, anyway. He doesn't think the little girl is responsible."

Fung slowed his steps, brow creased in a frown. "Actually, I did some checking, too. I forgot to tell you. Before the bank branch was built, there was an orphanage on that plot of land. In the forties and fifties. And look at this." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Chiu.

Chiu unfolded it and looked at the grainy photocopy of a newspaper photo. The caption read, _Orphanage opens day school, feeds hungry street children_. Three orderly rows of little children in uniforms -- white shirts over dark skirts and pants -- stood in front of a doorway. Off to one side was a beautiful woman in a plain dark dress, with her hair pulled back severely. Her look was neither inviting nor forbidding, but nevertheless, there was something unsettling about her direct stare at the camera.

"Matron?" Chiu asked, handing Fung the paper.

Fung shrugged. "I don't like to think so, but I don't know what to think. That photo was taken almost fifty years ago. The orphanage hasn't been there for forty-four years. If those children were the orphans, what have they been doing all this time?"

Chiu glanced around, half expecting a crowd of angry child ghosts to step out of the dark. He hesitated before asking, already knowing the answer in his heart. "What happened to the orphanage?"

"It burnt down. Everyone inside burnt to death."

\-----

Paper Chan was irritatingly unimpressed with their discoveries. He waved them off as irrelevant and instead grasped Fung's arm in an unyielding grip and pulled him to one side to quiz him about his date with Betty. Fung cast a helpless look at Chiu, and Chiu shrugged. Fung's girlfriend, he decided, was one problem that had nothing to do with him. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked over to Chan's Western goods store, where shoplifter Yim was hovering by the cash register. He expected Yim to look guilty and disappear the way he always did, but Yim gave him a pitying look.

Chiu regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "You want to tell me something?"

Yim shrank and glanced away, but gradually floated forward, coming closer. "It's too bad, that's all. She's really angry at you."

If Chiu had had his ghost gloves, he would have grabbed Yim by the collar. He was sick and tired of these cryptic statements from the spirit world. "Who is? Who is she? Do I know her? Have I met her? Is she the matron?"

Yim smiled cannily. "She said she'd give me things, anything I wanted."

"Yeah?" Chiu scoffed. "Then why are you here, talking to me? Why aren't you with her?"

"Because she scares me more than you do," Yim said, shrinking back until he disappeared entirely.

"There you are," Fung said, coming into the store, rubbing his upper arm. "A customer came in, and I escaped." They left the store and fell into step together. "What's with him, anyway? Have you noticed all the paper flowers in his store? The walls are covered with them."

Chiu shook his head and let out a disgusted sigh. "You want to know what I think? This hell season, if it exists, means that everyone in both worlds has gone insane. Except me."

Fung gave him a sidelong look. "You sure about that?" he asked with a grin, and Chiu could only grin back. A pause, then Fung protested, "Hey, I haven't gone insane."

Chiu looked him over and hmmmmed. He swung an arm across Fung's shoulders and lightly knocked against his forehead with his knuckles. "You've always been a little nuts, so it's hard to tell."

Fung grinned and poked his ribs with his elbow. "That's why we're partners."

He ducked away from Chiu's feinted punch and walked backwards in the street in front of him, laughing and throwing pretend kicks at him. Chiu laughed and chased him down the hill and around the corner to the sidewalk stairs. They slid down the handrail together and ran to the next corner, laughing and breathless.

Chiu slowed, reaching to grab Fung's shirt. "Wait, slow down."

Fung stopped and leaned against a stone wall, catching his breath. "You're slowing down, old-timer."

"I'm younger than you!" Chiu threw a pretend punch at his stomach, and Fung mimed doubling over in pain.

"I'm starving," Chiu said. "Let's get something to eat. Mama Liu's is nearby. Not as good as your cooking, but no dishes to wash afterwards." He nudged Fung's side; washing dishes was supposed to be Chiu's part of the bargain, but he always let them sit for so long that Fung complained and washed them himself.

Fung furrowed his brow and pushed off from the wall. "Ah, I can't tonight. I'm meeting Betty." He gave Chiu a wide-eyed, genuinely sorry look that made Chiu uncomfortable for feeling so disappointed.

"It's okay," he said, not as easily as he would've liked. They fell into step and walked toward the flat.

"You should call Danielle," Fung said.

"She's working tonight."

"Oh. But that reminds me, I asked her, and she said Thursday would be fine for our double date."

Chiu stopped in the street. "You already asked her? You already set this up? Behind my back?"

Fung put his hands on his hips and got that annoying, lecturing look on his face. Chiu cut him off. "You knew how I felt about this idea." He brushed past him, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Exactly," Fung agreed, following him. "That's why I asked her myself. I knew if I left it to you, you'd never do anything. I don't know what your problem is. It's just a date, and Danielle's a nice girl. I think she and Betty will get along. You're being silly."

Chiu rounded on him again. "I'm being silly? Me? You're the one who keeps falling head over heels for girls you don't even know, doing everything for them and then smiling when they leave you for their fiancés. You fill our flat with stinking pastries and take weeks to ask one girl out, and then all you can talk about is how much octopus she ate. You're crazy, you know that? I don't think you know what love really is."

Fung clenched his jaw and gave him a hard look. "Yes, I do," he said, but Chiu barely heard him.

"What is wrong with you, anyway?" Chiu went on. "Why does everyone have to fit so perfectly into your fantasies, behave the way you want them to? Life isn't like that. Nobody's perfect." _Except Danielle_, his mind coolly reminded him through his ranting. He looked away from the hurt, angry look Fung was giving him. "I just wish you'd leave me alone."

He turned and walked away, not glancing back to see if Fung followed.

\-----

Chiu spent most of the night walking, avoiding the flat. When he found himself in front of the building in the darkest hour before dawn, he didn't go inside, but took the department's car and drove up into the hills, back to Tsong Tower. He couldn't explain why he came here, and as he sat in the car and stared at the empty office building, he felt a little foolish.

"What are you doing?" he muttered, running his hands through his hair. It was as if his life of heeding Chan's warnings about his "death star" had left him incapable of being a friend, of truly loving someone.

This couldn't be true, he told himself. Ceding to a sudden urge, he pulled out his cellphone and rang Danielle.

"Hello?" She sounded hoarse and cleared her throat.

"Did I wake you? It's late. I'm sorry." He ran a hand over his brow. Maybe he was losing his sanity, too.

"It's all right," she said soothingly. "I like when you call me." She paused. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said too quickly. "Yeah. I had a fight with Fung tonight. I'm afraid to go home."

"You can come here," she offered with a hint of politeness in her voice that told him she already knew he wasn't going to accept the offer. It saddened him, but couldn't bring himself to answer.

"This is about the double date," she said with a little giggle that soothed him again. "I told Fung you'd never agree to it."

She'd gotten to the very heart of the problem. Chiu believed all the answers he needed were within reach.

"But why? Why don't I agree to it?" he asked her.

She was silent for a moment, and Chiu's hopes receded. Then she said, "Because that's how you live. You have one life for Fung, and another life for me, and you don't weave them together."

Chiu stared at the darkness, speechless. She was exactly right, and he had never seen it before, never noticed it. All along, he had kept her apart, kept her separated. The only time she had crossed into his world, he had been unable to stop her, and had avoided talking about it afterwards.

"Chiu? Are you still there?" She sounded sleepy.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I'm sorry." He couldn't be sure what he was apologizing for; there were several possibilities.

"It's all right. I can tell Fung about the date if you like, but you should go home now. He'll be worried about you."

Chiu wanted to doubt her, wanted to hold onto disbelief for a while longer and feel sorry for himself while he figured things out, but he knew she was right. She was right about everything.

"Thanks," he said.

"Good night," she said warmly, and hung up.

Chiu took a deep breath and looked out at the building and empty park. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and wondered what he was going to say to Fung.

A foul-smelling cold breath brushed the back of his neck, and the car's windows fogged up. The air took shape in the passenger seat next to him, and a beautiful woman with her hair tied back in a bun crossed her shapely legs beneath a plain black dress and regarded him with a deep, unsettling gaze.

"Hello, little one," she said in a flat voice that held no femininity at all. "I'm Matron, and you've been a very naughty boy."

\-----

It was one of those dreams the dreamer knows is unreal, and he wanders through the tableaux both afraid of staying and afraid of waking. Chiu stayed; he knew this dream would be important.

He stood on a hill in the city and watched men building a squat schoolhouse under a broiling sun. Then he wandered through its halls and saw children sleeping, crying, and whispering in the dark. At the end of the hall was a closed door, and the room beyond emitted evil. He watched little children lining up to go inside, and tried to reach them, call out to them, but he was only an observer here. Maybe this wasn't even his own dream.

That thought propelled him back outside, and under another broiling sun, he stood beside the charred ruins of the schoolhouse and watched old men and women from the neighborhood pick through the wreckage for anything they could salvage to sell. Nausea roiled in his belly, and he turned away. A beautiful, sad young woman stood beside him, watching the scavengers. Her hands were draped over the shoulders of two little children, a boy and a girl. They wore matching school uniforms.

The woman was familiar to him. With the certainty that comes in dreams, he knew she had brought him here.

"Why?" he asked her, hearing no sound in his voice. "Why show me this?"

The woman's face hardened and she stared at him with fathomless hatred. "You're the boy who helps ghosts. So nice, they say. So handsome. So useless."

Beyond her, he saw hundreds of children lining up, all staring at him silently, standing in orderly rows. Some of them had terrible wounds on their bodies; others simply bore the signs of unspeakable, hidden horrors. Older children cradled silent babies in their arms. He recognized one little girl in the gathering crowd: a girl with a gash down her face and a bloody wound in her hair.

He was afraid, maybe moreso than he had ever been, but he knew this was a dream, and even ghosts couldn't harm him in a dream.

"Older sister," he said respectfully to the woman, though she looked no older than he was, "you're very angry, and your children are angry. You were robbed of your lives. But that was many years ago, and you must be in pain after staying here for so long. Let me wake up and help you."

The woman inspected him as if he were an insect. "There's nothing you can do for me. And it's too late for them. No one wept over their deaths, no one invited them back to the womb. You would send them away to be reincarnated as worms? At least your partner, when he tempted them with sweets, had no idea what he was doing."

She paused and looked out at the rubble. "He has a kind heart," she said, making the words seem nasty and evil. "It's a pity." She smiled a cold knife blade of a smile.

"What do you mean? What's happened to Fung?" Chiu grabbed for her, but now he was floating away, seeing her from above. "Leave Fung alone! You're angry at me, fine. Come after me, you bitch! But stay away from Fung!"

Her laughter, hollow and vile, floated after him and followed him as he awoke.

Chiu blinked at the morning light, groggy from the nightmare which even now faded so quickly, he couldn't remember why he'd been so afraid, just felt the chills and twisting in his gut. He opened his eyes and saw his own clock, and was slightly surprised that he was in his own bed. He didn't remember coming home the night before.

He rolled onto his back and stretched his shoulders, and figured he must have been dead tired because he hadn't even bothered with his pajamas, had just stripped down to nothing. He wiped his face with his hands and yawned hugely.

"'Morning," a muffled voice said into a pillow.

Chiu's pulse jumped and clogged his throat, and he turned to see the back of Fung's head on the bed beside him. So unreal a sight that his first fear was that it was just the head, unattached, but a quick scan revealed that it was attached to Fung's shoulders. Fung's bare shoulders.

"No," Chiu gasped, scrambling to sit up and pulling the covers with him, uncovering more of Fung's body: a bare leg, a bare arm, part of his back.

Fung reached back and grabbed the covers, tugging them back. "Go back to sleep," he said to the pillow.

Chiu looked around the room, his heart pounding wildly. "If I go back to sleep, will all of this go away?"

Fung rolled over and squinted up at him. "Huh?" Then his look softened and he smiled sleepily and said, "You're not dreaming, don't worry."

Chiu hugged his knees, feeling sick and dizzy. "So the nightmare's real."

Fung sat up, scratching a hand through his hair. "What are you talking about?" He touched Chiu's forearm. "You don't look well. Are you okay? Should I get you something?"

Chiu shut his eyes, unable to look at him, unable to believe this was happening. Matron's haunting laughter echoed in his ears, and his skin flushed with angry shame as he pieced together what must have happened. Oh, she didn't need to come after Fung at all, did she? Not when she had a body she could possess.

"Bitch," he spat out.

Fung's fingers dropped from his arm. "Excuse me?"

Chiu took a deep breath and opened his eyes. There was no help for it; sooner or later he would have to face it. He was only sorry that this was Matron's game, exactly what she wanted; he didn't want to give her anything.

"I don't know how to say this, but whatever's happened here, it wasn't me. I don't remember anything--" He raised a hand in warning. "--and don't tell me anything. What's done is done, we'll have to get through it." He reluctantly met Fung's eyes, saw his wary bewilderment. "You have to know this: it wasn't me. It was Matron. She possessed me."

"Oh." Fung rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "That's... not what I expected to hear. You're sure?"

"I'm certain. The last thing I remember, I was in the car talking to Danielle on the phone."

Fung gave him a curious look. "She told you to come home. She told you I'd be worried about you, and I was."

Chiu stared at him. "How do you know what she said?"

"You told me. When you came home." Fung chewed on his lip, frowning. "I have to say, you didn't act like you were possessed. You seemed like you. You seemed normal."

"Except for the part where I ended up naked in bed with you," Chiu pointed out, glimpsing the true extent of Matron's powers. That explained, partially, how Fung could've been fooled.

"Hmmm, I suppose so," Fung said noncommittally. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. "But why would she--? Why make us--?" He gestured in the air with one hand. Chiu couldn't interpret it, wasn't sure he wanted to.

He folded the top blanket over himself and carefully rolled himself into it, leaving Fung covered in the lower sheet. "She's trying to hurt us. Hurt me. She hates me because I help ghosts, but never helped her."

"That's crazy," Fung said. "You weren't even born when she died."

"I know it's crazy." Chiu stood up, wrapped in the blanket. "_She's_ crazy. I've looked into her eyes, so believe me." He paused and forced himself to turn around, not to look away. It was unsettling, to say the least, to see Fung in his bed only covered by a sheet, but looking away wasn't going to change anything. It could make things worse; of that, Chiu was certain.

"She'll tear us apart if she can," Chiu said. "I'm sorry for what happened here, but we can't let it get in the way. That's what she wants. She wants to destroy us both."

Fung met his gaze. "Let her try," he said, raising his chin.

\-----

Calm determination at the bedside was one thing, but Chiu found it hard to meet Fung's eyes over the kitchen table, no matter how aggressively cheerful Fung insisted on being. Fung made lunch, sat down across from him, and between bites of snow peas said, "We have to tell Paper Chan."

Chiu set down his chopsticks. "No."

"He can help us." Fung placed some celery and water chestnuts in Chiu's bowl.

Chiu reluctantly picked up his chopsticks and poked at the bowl. "His help is usually more trouble than it's worth."

Fung made a noise and shook his head. "How can you say that? If it weren't for him, we'd both be dead, and 2002 would be shut down. Have another shrimp."

Chiu flicked him an annoyed look. "Okay, but we don't need to tell him everything."

They found Chan in the shop twisting wires and attaching them as the bars of a paper birdcage.

Fung hung back in the doorway and let Chiu do the talking, for which Chiu supposed he should be grateful. He sunk his hands into his coat pockets and stood beside Chan, trying to get his attention.

"Something's happened, and we think we need your help."

"You and Fung had a big argument last night, and you ran off to sulk like a little boy," Chan said without looking up from his work. "Big deal."

Chiu narrowed his eyes and wondered how Chan could've known about any of that. He shot a suspicious glare at Fung, but Fung shrugged. Chan glanced up and smirked.

"That's what happens when two foolish young men become partners. Get over it. This is not the time to be distracted and sulky and letting your guard down. It's hell--"

"--season, yeah, I know," Chiu interrupted. "But there was something else. I met Matron last night." Chan's fingers slowed on the paper he was twisting. "She possessed me, and made me hurt Fung." He winced, unhappy with his explanation, but not knowing how else to put it without getting into details.

Chan set the paper cage down and looked him over. He cocked his head and looked at Fung, who was obviously physically unhurt.

"I see," he said at last. Chiu was sure he'd press for details, and ran through what he was willing to say, but Chan returned to his paper cage and ignored them. Chiu couldn't resist casting an I-told-you-so-look at Fung.

Fung stalked inside and stood next to Chan with his hands on his hips. "Well?"

"You want me to help you?" Chan asked, giving Chiu a hard stare.

"Yes," Fung answered for them both.

Chiu gnawed on his lower lip, inwardly shrinking. He sometimes forgot how scary Chan could be.

"Yeah," he said at last. "We... I do."

"Good." Chan went back to twisting paper over the wires. "Then forget about it. Forget what happened, and stop worrying about Matron."

"That's your help?" Fung exploded. "That's all you can say? Stop being so useless, old man." He marched out of the shop, stepping on paper flowers and kicking them out of the way. Chiu watched him pacing outside.

After a long moment, he said, "He trusts you. He thinks you can really help us."

Chan sighed and fastened another wire to the paper cage. "It doesn't matter if he trusts me or not; it's you he has to trust." He looked at Chiu. "And that means you have to trust yourself."

Chiu scanned the walls of the shop, the colors of the paper flowers blurring together. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay. But you're wrong about Matron. She's powerful. She possessed me."

"Forget about her."

"But she's got ghost children with her, a lot of them, like an army. I can't stop worrying about her just because you say so. She's really scary."

Chan sucked on a tooth and shrugged. "That's my advice." He gave a disgusted sigh and tapped Chiu's forehead with his finger. "Is there anything left in there, sulky boy? Do you listen at all? What do I keep telling you about the hell season?"

Chiu grimaced at him. "Not to be distracted."

Chan smiled. "Very good. Telling you a hundred times is all it took for it to sink in." His smile faded. "Now go, get out of my way, I'm busy. Forget what happened. Keep an eye on Fung, and when the time comes, let him help you. You got that? You understand through your wooden skull?"

Chiu nodded, thinking Chan's advice, as always, was easier said than done. He flicked at the paper flowers hanging from the wall as he left the shop, glancing back and asking, "Think you have enough of these?"

"We'll see," Chan said, and Chiu had no idea what he meant by that.

\-----

The third week of hot, dry weather settled over the city. Most days were stagnant and airless, but occasionally strong, burning winds swept through the streets, sucking the moisture from the air. Everything was dusty, dying. For the first time Chiu could see why they called it a hell season. Even the ghosts were listless, most of them staying away.

With no serious supernatural incidents occurring, their days fell into routine. They trained to keep in shape, they fruitlessly searched for connections between the fires and ghosts, and they never mentioned Chiu's possession. In the evenings, Fung cooked dinner for Chiu, but went out with Betty. Danielle no longer worked the night shift and would come over to share dinner, then Chiu would take her out, usually for a long, quiet walk. It was a normal, average kind of life, the life Chiu had never believed he could have.

And it was all wrong. He was lazy and stupid during the day, making careless mistakes. He was sullen and withdrawn at night, or irritable and snappish. He watched the city around him shrivelling and didn't care. Each day dragged to a close, each night stretched into meaningless darkness. With nothing to fight, and no one to help, he was useless.

Even Fung was affected by the pointless boredom. He kept quiet and stayed out of Chiu's way. He disappeared in the afternoons and never said where he'd been. If Chiu caught his eye, he looked away. More than once Chiu had woken in the middle of the night and found Fung sitting on the sofa, asleep in his clothes.

Yes, Chiu thought, they were all going insane. Leaves dried and died on trees, insects burnt on asphalt, and everyone walked around in a stupor. Ordinary crimes were on the rise, from petty theft to murder, but there was little reaction, no outrage.

On the first day of the fourth week of the dry spell, five students at an exclusive girls' school committed suicide. There was nothing supernatural about the case, but it caught Chiu's interest, and Fung remarked about it. Chiu turned on the news to hear about it, and Fung came to watch. Chiu couldn't remember the last time they'd watched television together.

It was the top story. A newscaster was at the school, reporting from the scene. Chiu's pulse skipped as he watched the screen.

There she was, right on the video: Matron. She stood on the roof where the girls had jumped to their deaths holding hands. Chiu's breath caught, the camera whirred away to the newscaster, and he questioned whether he had really seen her. The camera swung back to the roof, and there she was. And as he watched, she looked into the camera and stared directly at him.

"Is that her?" Fung asked, and Chiu was relieved to know Fung could also see her.

"Yeah, that's her."

They drove out to the school but met uncooperative administrators and local cops. They hadn't been officially summoned, and no one believed it was anything paranormal. Grudgingly, the cops showed them where the bodies had been found and took them onto the roof. Matron was nowhere to be seen, but Chiu sensed a malevolent presence all the same. He exchanged a look with Fung and knew Fung felt it, too.

But nothing happened, no ghosts appeared, and they found nothing unusual at the scene.

"Could she have made them do it?" Chiu wondered aloud as they walked back to the car.

Fung looked back at the school building. "Do you think she's still there, not showing herself?"

"I don't know. Maybe she was toying with us. She knew we'd be able to see her on the newscast, and would have to come see for ourselves." Chiu hated admitting it, but they'd played right into her hands again.

"I've been thinking," Fung said as they reached the car. "Chan's never told us much about the last hell season, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out when it happened. Weather like this? People who were around would remember it."

Chiu tapped his fingers on the car door, thinking. "And we could find the newspapers from then, read up on what happened."

"And police reports," Fung added. "I know 2002 didn't exist yet, but there might be unsolved cases or eyewitness statements that didn't make sense at the time."

Chiu smiled. "I know just who to ask. Old Chu at Central. He remembers everything."

Fung smiled back, and a weight lifted from Chiu's chest. He hadn't seen Fung smile like that -- a true, real smile -- since the night he'd been possessed. Chan had been right: it was better to forget all about that.

\-----

Old Chu was more than happy to talk about the past, especially as Fung had brought a small box of pastries. Chu took them to the break room, poured three cups of tea, and helped himself to a coconut bun.

"The last hell season..." he mused. "Oh yes, I remember it. I was young and handsome back then." He looked Chiu and Fung over and frowned. "Not as young as you pups, I suppose."

"When was it?" Fung asked, pushing the open pastry box closer to Chu.

"Oh, let's see." Chu closed his eyes and counted on his fingers. "Forty-five, no, forty-four years ago. It was hotter than this one. There was dust on the streets. And the sky, always full of smoke. You could mistake noon for dusk, it was so dark."

Chiu sipped his tea. "There were a lot of fires?"

"Everyday!" Old Chu shook his head, selecting a custard from the box. "Some were accidents, but most were arson. Business rivals trying to destroy each other. Triads getting even with their enemies. It seemed like the weather brought out the worst in people. No one smiled or had a kind word. The victims of the fires were shunned, not pitied. It was a very bad time."

He paused to eat the custard, and Chiu thought about how listless the city had been lately, how no one seemed to care about anything. It was exactly like Old Chu described.

"Ah, but the worst fire of all," said Chu. "That one I'll never forget. It was an orphanage up on a hill. The arsonist set the fire at night when everyone was asleep. No one survived, and they never found out who did it. There were only two adults there at the time: the director and his assistant, a young woman who took care of the kids and ran a little day school. All the other victims were children."

Chiu exchanged a look with Fung. Neither of them were surprised; it made too much sense that Matron's orphanage had burned down during the last hell season.

Fung poured more tea into the old man's cup. "Were there any unusual incidents? Anything that couldn't be explained at the time?"

Old Chu looked at them both and smirked. "Like the kinds of cases Special Unit 2002 handles now?" he chuckled. He took a drink of tea. "Oh, of course. There always have been. But nothing I can really recall."

Chiu stifled a sigh of disappointment. He hoped the old newspapers and police reports would be more helpful. He finished his tea. "Well, thank you for your time and help." He stood up and gave Fung an impatient look.

"Keep the rest of these, uncle," Fung said, offering Chu the pastry box. "Thank you."

Old Chu seemed pleased, scanning over the remaining pastries. "Of course, there was the little girl..." he said.

"What little girl?" Chiu asked.

"Little girl with long hair and a cut on her face. People would report seeing her just before a fire or an accident. A triad member who was arrested for murder swore that the little girl had been there, making him do it." Chu took a slow sip of tea. "Yes, and sometimes the reports showed different people in different places seeing her at the same time. We never found her, of course, and the commissioner at the time advised us to keep her out of the official reports. Is this one mango cream?"

When they'd left Old Chu, Fung gave Chiu a meaningful look. "The little girl? It has to be the same one."

"Yes," Chiu said distractedly. He hadn't forgotten about the malevolence emanating from her the night they prevented the fire. But Old Chu's story hadn't been quite what he'd expected, either. "But what he said about the orphanage. That makes Matron sound like just another victim."

"Maybe she's the one who started the fire."

"I don't think so," Chiu said, but couldn't explain why he didn't believe she'd done it.

"Even so," said Fung. "The woman suffered at her death and could have become an angry spirit."

They stepped outside into the furnace-like heat of late afternoon. Chiu checked his watch. "It's almost time for the bakery to close. You go along to Betty. I'm going to visit the archives and read up on the fire."

Fung furrowed his bow. "I'll go with you. We can get more done together."

Chiu smiled at him. "No, it's okay. There probably isn't much there, anyway. It sounded like they didn't keep very extensive reports."

"Well, if you say so," Fung said hesitantly. "I'll meet you at the flat later. I'll make us dinner."

Chiu cleared his throat and glanced away, watching pedestrians across the street wander around in their numb haze. "What about Betty?"

"Oh, she won't mind. Unless..." Fung said, sounding hopeful.

Chiu raised an eyebrow and regarded him. "Unless what?"

"You can call Danielle, and we can all eat together."

Chiu narrowed his eyes. "As in a double date."

Fung grinned at him. "You could be a famous detective, the way you figure things out. You'd look very cool in a nice suit and sunglasses, questioning suspects. Okay, okay," he said hurriedly, raising his hands. "Some other time." He shot Chiu another grin before jogging off to catch a bus waiting at the nearest stop. Chiu watched him go and sighed, and wished he could answer all of the questions he was trying to ignore.

\-----

Fung wasn't home when Chiu returned from his afternoon in the police archives. As he'd suspected, the records were sketchy and not very helpful. He'd learned that Matron's name had been Margaret Lee, and that she'd been twenty-two when she died, the same age Chiu was now. He walked into the darkened flat and checked his watch. He'd been deliberately late coming home; he'd had a suspicion that Fung would go behind his back again and invite Danielle and Betty over despite Chiu. It was strange that Fung wasn't even here.

Chiu paused by the kitchen table, idly picking up an empty rice bowl. He took another look at the table: two rice bowls, two sets of chopsticks, two glasses, a few serving plates, and a pitcher of water. Everything set out for a quiet dinner at home.

There were vegetables and shrimp in the refrigerator, and next to a cutting board, some ginger root waiting to be sliced. Chiu picked up the knife and frowned.

"Fung?"

The responding silence was thick and oppressive. Chiu stepped into the living area and stopped. Over the blood writing, _I hate you_, three new words were scrawled: _Fung will die_.

Chiu dropped the knife and it fell point down into the floor. Heart racing, he searched through the flat for signs of struggle, for blood, for any clue. He sank to the sofa and ran his hands through his hair, thinking fast. He had to focus, had to figure this out. Matron. The orphanage. Tsong Tower.

Almost immediately he had changed into his uniform and geared up. Seconds later he was in the car. As he turned on the ignition, he remembered when the water ghost had possessed Fung. and how if it hadn't been for Chan's help, they'd both be dead. Chiu clenched his jaw, flashes of Fung's death distracting him.

_Don't be distracted_, Chan's advice floated back to him.

_Such a shame_, the old lady ghost had said.

Chiu sped off, tapping his cellphone.

"Paper Chan, Matron has Fung. I'm heading to Tsong Tower now. I think that's where they'll go." Chan started to say something, but Chiu had no time for debates. "Shut up. Just meet me there. I may need your help. It's Fung. He can't die this time." He turned off the call before Chan could respond, and ignored his cellphone's ringing shortly afterwards. Eventually it stopped and didn't ring again, and Chiu hoped that meant that Chan had listened to him.

He arrived at Tsong Tower during mass confusion and panic. Police and fire trucks were at the scene, and people were running from the building. He soon saw why: fires had been started in the lobby and on some of the floors. Windows had been broken and flames reached outside, growing in the air. Smoke covered the area.

Chiu scanned the crowds, but he knew in his gut that Matron had taken Fung inside. She had started the fires. Forty-four years too late, she was getting her revenge.

Pulling on his gloves, he strode through the chaos to the building. Firemen blocked his way. "You can't go inside," one of them said.

Chiu produced his Special Unit ID. "I have to. Don't worry about saving me. Just do your job."

The fireman looked dubious but let him pass.

Inside, the building was falling apart. Ceiling tiles littered the floor, ineffectual sprinklers sprayed while fires consumed desks and papers. Chiu covered his face and ran through the acrid smoke to the stairwell. Firemen were climbing the stairs to each floor to search for trapped victims. They waved him ahead, out of their way.

Chiu made for the roof. There were fires on every two or three floors, all the way up, and a fireman told him they had broken out on the lower floors first. That meant the ghost had dragged Fung to the top. It didn't mean they were still up there, but Chiu followed his instincts and doggedly kept his strength for the long climb, knowing that if he was right, the battle was only beginning.

A strong wind nearly knocked him backwards when Chiu stepped outside onto the roof. He scanned the area, squinting and covering his mouth and nose from clouds of smoke.

"Fung?" he shouted.

An unearthly cackle was the response. Chiu followed it, constantly checking around him, bracing for an attack.

"Fung, I'm coming to help," he called out. "Just let me know where you are."

This time there was no reply, and a gust of wind blew smoke and debris at him, making him cough. His eyes stung and watered and he crouched down until he could see again. There were pipes and utility enclosures all over the roof. Four tall telecommunications towers reached to the sky, white lights blinking at their tips. Through the smoky haze, Chiu could see a dark shape along the edge of the roof, beyond the furthest telecom tower. Resting one hand on his gun, he ran toward it, stopping at the base of the tower when he could get a good view.

The ghost wasn't visible, but it had Fung in its grasp and was dangling him over the side of the building. It was almost fifty stories down, a lethal drop. Fung was twisting to get free, kicking at the air and trying to gain a toehold on the roof, but the ghost was too strong.

Chiu reached for the unveiling drops but paused. If the ghost dropped Fung... With a bitter snarl, he put the vial back and strode toward the invisible ghost.

"You want me, not Fung," he said. "Show yourself, and we'll settle this right now."

"Stay back," Fung cried out, struggling in the air. "It's not--" his words were choked off and he briefly swung higher in the air. Chiu ran to the edge, knowing that even if he could catch him, they'd both fall to their deaths. At least they'd be ghosts together, he thought grimly.

"Use your unveiling drops!" A voice called out from behind. It was Chan, crouching to run through the smoke, inexplicably carrying a paper birdcage with him.

"But Fung--"

"Use them!" Chan yelled.

Chiu took out a vial and hesitated, looking at Fung hanging above him in the air, his face contorted in pain, kicking uselessly at the ghost. Chiu blinked rapidly and swallowed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

He tossed the vial, and the ghost took shape. It was not Matron. It was not even just one ghost. It was a pyramid of child ghosts supporting each other, lifting up two older boy ghosts who were holding Fung over the building. The power emanating from them as a group nearly knocked Chiu back. He reached for his gun.

Fung gasped, shaking his head. He stopped kicking and struggling and choked out, "I didn't know. I couldn't see who... No!" he cried as Chiu drew his gun. "Don't shoot them."

"He's right," Chan said at Chiu's side.

"The army of children," Chiu said, feeling queasy. "You said they didn't exist."

Chan gave him a opaque look. "I never said that."

Chiu stared at the child ghosts, marvelling at how firm they stood their ground, how unwavering they were as a group. All their energy feeding together for one purpose. The wonder of it made Chiu flinch restlessly. Time was counting down, and even with half their powers gone, they were like this: silent, unmoving, and able to hold Fung.

"But what do I do?" Chiu asked desperately. "They'll drop him if I don't do something. But if I fight them, they'll drop him anyway."

Chan put a hand on Chiu's arm. "They are not your real enemy. Look." He pointed to the far corner, away from the child ghosts.

There she was, hovering over the roof and smiling serenely: the little girl with the gashed face and fractured skull. She was watching the ghost children dangle Fung from the roof, and her eyes were alight with pure, evil enjoyment.

Chiu slid a sideways glance at Chan. "You said she wasn't powerful enough to do anything."

Chan looked impatient. "I didn't say that, either. I said I'd never heard of a child ghost doing the things you described, and that's true. But this one, she's not what she seems."

Chiu looked at her uneasily. "She was here during the last hell season. Old Chu told us."

"She's here every hell season," Chan said. "She's the worst kind of spirit. She feeds off people's fears, secrets, and dread. She doesn't need to possess someone to control him. She can make him create his own demons to battle. Hell season is perfect for her. People are distracted and weak, tired and scared. Ripe for harvesting."

Chiu looked from the girl to the children. "But the child ghosts? They're her army?"

Chan snorted. "She has no army. Her one weakness. She's entirely alone. Other ghosts are too scared of her. They don't want to become like her." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bundle of small papers. "She was able to find child ghosts and use them the way she uses the living. Think about those poor children, dying before they can truly live, confused and hurt. All that emotion she can feed from."

Chiu's breath caught. "The five suicides. The girls at that school."

"Yes. Fresh, confused, emotionally turbulent ghosts to feed from." He handed Chiu the papers. "Let me take care of her." At Chiu's protest, he shook his head. "No arguing. You want to save Fung, or you want him to die?"

"I want to save him," Chiu said, clenching his jaw. "I have to this time." This time there were no ghost tears to shed to resurrect him.

"When I tell you to, set fire to these papers and scatter them near the children."

Chiu recoiled. "No. Fung's gonna fall if anything happens to those kids."

Chan looked into his eyes. "If you won't trust me, will you trust yourself? Will you let Fung fall?"

Chiu's eyes watered and he blinked. Damn smoke everywhere. "No, of course not."

"All right, then, that's no problem," Chan said brightly, patting Chiu's shoulder as he stood up. He picked up his paper birdcage and opened its door, and walked toward the evil girl ghost. With one hand behind his back, he gestured for Chiu to go toward Fung.

Chiu warily moved to the edge of the roof, clutching the bundle of papers and a lighter. Fung squirmed around, looking at him questioningly. Chiu met his gaze steadily. _I won't let you die this time_, he thought.

Fung frowned for a moment, then noticed Chan walking toward the girl with his cage. "What's he doing?"

Chiu glanced over and saw Chan kneeling with the cage, putting something small inside it. He spoke to the girl, but Chiu couldn't hear what he said. Whatever it was, it caught the girl's attention, and she glowered at Chan.

"Chiu, now!" Chan shouted.

Chiu's hands were moving before he could think. He lit the papers and tossed them around the children a few centimeters from where they hovered. The papers crackled and burned in weak, multicolored flames. Chiu wondered how this was supposed to help. As he watched, though, colored wisps of smoke rose from the papers, twisting in the air and taking on shapes: monkeys, cats, dragons, elephants, birds. The children's eyes followed the shapes.

"Chiu!" Fung's voice came from the air above him, and Chiu spun around and lept onto the roof's ledge. He took a dizzying glance at the sheer drop down and steadied himself. He reached up, not even close to grabbing hold of Fung.

The boys holding Fung in the air were watching the colored smoke shapes. Chiu could see their grasp wavering. Fung kicked in the air, trying to propel himself closer to Chiu.

"Little brothers," Chiu called to the ghosts. "He must be heavy to hold like that. Why don't you bring him back?"

The boys looked at him curiously. One of them relaxed his hold and Fung cried out desperately and raised his arms to his head so he wouldn't see his death fall.

"No!" Chiu yelled, running along the ledge, trying to reach for him. "Give him to me first. Don't let go!"

The boys lowered Fung until he swayed in the air close to Chiu. He still covered his face with his arms. "Are they dropping me? I can't look."

"Swing closer," Chiu urged, reaching out.

Fung shook his head but kicked his knees up and came rolling forward. Chiu lunged and grabbed him around the stomach, and for a moment they teetered on the ledge, only the ghost boys' hold on Fung keeping them from falling. Then the boys let go and they toppled backwards, Chiu landing hard on the roof and Fung landing in a crushing weight on top of him.

For a moment, all Chiu could think was, _Fung's alive_. Fung's chest was pressed against his face, pushing and contracting rapidly with every breath he took. They were both alive, and nothing had ever felt as good as the hard, sharp, scratchy surface of the roof underneath them. Chiu tightened his hold around Fung. Alive.

Fung squirmed and lowered his arms from his face. He raised his head and looked down at Chiu. Their eyes met and Chiu opened his mouth to speak, though he wasn't sure what he was going to say. Fung's eyes widened and he took a breath that Chiu felt as well as heard. A girl's scream pierced the air.

Fung rolled off of him and was already running toward Chan when Chiu stood up. He caught up with them in time to see Chan lifting the birdcage and setting it on fire. The bottom of it fell out and he threw it over the little girl's head. As they watched, the flames devoured the colored paper, leaving behind the wires, which grew to cover her, extending and weaving together all around the ghost until she was caught in a mesh net.

The ghost girl glared at them. "You're nothing, old man. You're weak and stupid," she spat out, and then, with a disturbing smile, disappeared inside the net. It fell into a formless heap onto the roof. The wires glowed briefly, then faded away, leaving nothing behind.

"Hmpf," Chan said with a smirk. "Big talk from a little girl. She won't be back this hell season, don't worry." He wiped soot off his hands.

"How did you draw her to the cage?" Chiu asked.

"I tempted her with the illusion of cruelty. A helpless, innocent paper bird inside. She couldn't resist it. Once I burned it, she thought, she could get her hands on it and torture it. She didn't even notice that the cage was made of spirit-shredding wires. That net did her a lot of damage, don't be fooled. She won't be back anytime soon."

Fung looked back across the roof. "The ghost children. What are we going to do with them?"

Chan gave him a sharp look. "What do you want to do with them? Do you want revenge?"

"No!" Fung said, staring at him, shocked. He looked at Chiu. "They couldn't help it. She did it all. It wasn't their fault."

Chan smiled. "Just what I knew a young man with a kind heart would say." He reached into his coat and pulled out a police radio. He spoke into it, "Are you ready? Now." To Chiu and Fung he said, "Duck."

Chiu and Fung exchanged a puzzled look. A gust of smoky wind swept over the building, and the deafening roar of a helicopter filled the sky. The helicopter approached and hovered, and they ducked from the fierce, slashing air. The door of the helicopter was open, and from it flew paper flowers, thousands of them in every color. The ghost children saw them and ran after them, grabbing as many as they could. The helicopter flew off, trailing paper flowers.

Chan rose and picked up one of the flowers and walked toward the children. Then he stopped, turned, and said to Fung, "Why don't you talk to them?"

Chiu looked from Chan to Fung, watched Fung follow Chan's steps and take the flower from him. He looked uncertainly from Chan to the children, but Chan patted his shoulder. Fung crouched near where they stood in a large group, waving and twirling their flowers.

"Little ones, do you want to go together and play and be happy again?" Fung asked them.

A few of them nodded, some others said, "Yes." A little girl asked, "Can we take our flowers with us?"

"Sure. These flowers are for you." He handed her the flower he held, adding to her bouquet.

A little boy bit his lip and asked, "Will _she_ be there, waiting for us? I don't like her. She's scary."

"No, little ones," Fung said. "She can't go where you're going. You'll be reincarnated, and she never can be."

The children stood together and held their flowers. They closed their eyes at the same time and lifted their faces to the sky. Smoke blew over them, and the wretched stink of the burning building below, but the children's faces were peaceful and happy. Tiny golden lights like fireflies surrounded them, gently lighting the paper flowers into colored flames, gradually growing until all that remained was a golden glow, and when it faded, the children and all of the paper flowers were gone.

\-----

The fires in the Tsong Tower were mostly contained. Chan, Chiu, and Fung got the all clear and left the roof through the stairwell. As they climbed down to the lobby, Chan told Fung about the little ghost girl.

"I'm trying to figure out how she got you here," Chiu said to Fung. "You said you couldn't see them."

Fung, on the stair in front of him, exchanged a look with Chan. Chan raised his eyebrows as if excusing himself from the conversation entirely.

"I followed you here," Fung said at last. "I was at the flat when you called. You told me to meet you at Tsong Tower. When I got here, you called again, saying you were on the roof." He hesitated. "You said you were going to jump."

Chiu stared at him. "What? I never called you. And I never-- You thought I'd really jump?"

Fung ignored this. "When I got to the roof, there you were, on the edge. You said you couldn't forgive yourself, and you got up on the ledge. By the time I got there, and saw it wasn't really you, it was too late and the ghosts had me. I had no idea it was the children. I thought it was some giant air demon I couldn't see."

It was too much to comprehend at once. "Forgive myself? And wait, if it wasn't me, who was it?"

Fung chewed on his lip, casting a worried glance at Chan, who was pretending not to listen. "Matron."

"Matron! Of course! We almost forgot about her." Chiu pushed past them and started taking the stairs two at a time. "We have to find her. She'll be up to something now that the kids are gone. She'll be furious. She'll--"

He stopped, looked back and saw Fung and Chan standing on a stair watching him. Incredibly, Fung said, "Forget about Matron. Please."

Fung. Of all people, Fung. The only one who'd listened to him, the only one who'd helped find out about her. Hell, the only other person who'd seen her. Chiu stared at him, not even seeing Chan anymore. Only Fung.

"Chiu," Fung said quietly. "Please. Let's just get out of here, okay? We can talk about it later."

Chiu's gaze didn't waver. All the relief, all the happiness he'd felt knowing Fung was alive, seemed to shrivel inside him, becoming something bitter and hard. Without a word he turned and continued down the stairs, his boots clanking loudly on the metal steps.

When they got outside and away from the smoke-filled, sour air, Chiu sank to the curb and sat down and ran his hands over his face. Fung sat down next to him, and Chiu almost edged away, but he was too tired and too weighed down by Fung's betrayal. He hung his head and closed his eyes.

He heard Fung say, "He's not going to listen to me. You tell him."

Chan's voice floated above Chiu's head. "I think it would be better if it came from you."

"Well, you're wrong about that," Fung snapped angrily, so rare coming from him that Chiu opened his eyes and looked at him. Fung looked away.

Chan stepped out into the road and stood in front of Chiu. "You want to find the Matron?" he asked.

Chiu nodded, suspicious.

Chan raised a finger and tapped his own forehead, then pointed at Chiu. "Look in a mirror." He flapped his coattails and walked off into the night.

Fung groaned and flopped back into the grass and said to the sky, "Thanks a lot. That was really helpful."

Chiu frowned at him. "What are you talking about? What did he mean?"

Fung sat up and sighed. He put one hand on his knee and rested his chin on his knuckles, not looking at Chiu. With his other hand he picked at the hem of his trousers.

"You heard what Paper Chan said about the ghost girl," he said slowly. "How she feeds off people's emotions. How she can force a person make his own demons."

Chiu watched his fingers plucking at stitches along the hem. "You're saying I created Matron. She was my demon."

Fung nodded without looking up.

"But that's--" Chiu stopped. He glanced around, half expecting to see the world full of madmen around him. "But you saw her, too. She was real."

"Of course she was," Fung said. He added after a pause, "Your fears and doubts and guilt are real."

"But..." Chiu trailed off, nausea twisting his gut. "No. She was real. You saw her, too. And she possessed me."

Fung looked at him sadly. "Didn't you ever notice about her?"

"Notice what?" Chiu asked, his mouth dry and tasting bitter smoke.

"The Matron we saw didn't look like the newspaper photo of the woman from the orphanage. She looked like you."

Chiu stared at him, and all the shock and worry and surprise and fear from the night rolled through him at once, leaving him weary and numb. He couldn't say anything, not when Fung stood and helped him up, not when Fung drove them home, not when Fung ushered him to the kitchen table and whipped up a late dinner for them both. He ate silently, tasting the delicious food, listening to Fung chatter about nothing, stupid talk about pastries and Betty's mother visiting from Giulin.

The numbness finally wore off while Fung was washing the dishes. Chiu took off his coat, work belt and boots, and joined him at the sink to dry the dishes.

"So, you're saying that I conjured up my own ghost, and it was a chick," he said, as if hours hadn't passed.

Fung grinned at him. "Embarrassing, huh?"

Chiu made a face and dried the last plate. "You tell anyone about it, and I'll take a picture of you on the toilet and post it on the Internet."

Fung waved this off, reaching into a cabinet for a plastic bucket and cleaning supplies. "The government won't allow you to post something like that. Besides, you know I won't tell anyone. Paper Chan knows already. I think he knew from the start."

"Of course," Chiu muttered, readily transferring his annoyance to Paper Chan. "He could've told me."

"No, think about it. The demon grows the worse you feel. If you knew Matron was something you created, you'd feel horrible about it, wouldn't you? Afraid of what you'd do. That would only make her stronger."

"What are you doing?" Chiu asked, watching Fung fill the bucket with water and haul it to the living area.

Fung tossed him a scrubbing brush. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of living in a room that says, 'I hate you'. The blood writing should come off now."

Chiu rolled up his sleeves. "Good point."

He followed him into the living area, where Fung had stopped and was staring at the wall, the color draining from his cheeks. Chiu glanced at the wall and winced. "Oh. Yeah. I guess that wasn't there when you here." He patted Fung's back reassuringly.

Fung took a breath and the color crept back into his cheeks. "No, it wasn't." He pushed up his sleeves and dipped his scrub brush into the water purposefully. Chiu sprayed cleaning solution over the writing, beginning with: _Fung will die_.

They scrubbed at the writing until it faded enough that a good coat of paint would eliminate any traces of it. It was hard, back-breaking work, but Chiu worked especially vigorously at the second message. He didn't want any shadow of it to remain.

When he paused to rub his wrists, he asked, "Why did the ghosts threaten you, though? They kept insinuating to me that you were doomed. And _she_ wrote this."

Fung had taken a break and was sitting on the floor. He didn't answer immediately, but looked thoughtful. "Everything the ghost girl did was to make you doubt yourself, make you afraid," he said at last. Chiu thought about this as he scrubbed the wall again.

"It's okay," Fung told him. "You can't even read it now. We can paint over it tomorrow."

Chiu stepped back, and could still see more of the writing than he cared to -- the radical in Fung's name was clearly visible, if faint -- but his back, arms, and wrists ached. He tossed the brush into the bucket of bloody water and sat down on the floor. He watched Fung for a while, not sure what to say or how to say it. Fung was rubbing his fingers, working the cramps out.

"I told you that you didn't seem possessed that night," Fung said quietly. "I would have known if you had been."

"I don't remember it," Chiu said bleakly. He clenched his jaw and took a breath. "What happened?" he asked at last.

Fung stretched out and rested on his arms. He spoke softly, not looking at Chiu. "Not much, really. You came home and apologized. Told me what Danielle had said to you. You were upset, but I thought we should talk about it. So we sat on the bed and talked until you fell asleep."

A curious weight lifted from Chiu's chest, leaving both relief and an odd hollowness in its wake. "That doesn't sound so bad," he said tentatively.

"It wasn't," Fung said with a wistful smile. "You had your arm around me when you fell asleep..." he trailed off, flicked a glance at Chiu, and his smile faded.

Chiu raised an eyebrow. "You left out something, though, didn't you? Why were we naked?"

"I wasn't naked," Fung said blandly. "I was wearing my shorts, which you would've seen if you'd looked."

Chiu felt his cheeks go warm. He cleared his throat. "Still haven't answered my question."

Fung shrugged a little. "You stripped out of your clothes. You didn't say why. I thought maybe you were sleeping like that because of the weather."

Chiu didn't entirely buy this answer, but didn't entirely disbelieve it, either. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood up. Fung rose and took the cleaning supplies back to the kitchen. Chiu watched him, and took another look at the wall, considering painting it another color entirely. Maybe a new color would better hide the traces of writing.

Fung joined him and stood beside him. He rested a hand on Chiu's shoulder and said, "It'll be gone tomorrow. A bit of paint, and it's all over."

Chiu gave him a sidelong look. "That's all that happened that night?"

"Yeah, that's all," Fung said. He patted Chiu's shoulder. "Well, there was the kiss, but..."

"Kiss?" Chiu looked at him.

Fung smiled. "Yeah, but you were falling asleep. It wasn't much of a kiss."

_Kiss_. Chiu couldn't get his brain beyond this point. They'd kissed. He didn't even remember it. He stared at Fung. They'd kissed.

Fung lowered his gaze. "It's okay," he said. "It wasn't anything, really. No big deal."

They'd kissed, and he was never going to remember it. A sticky, ill heat gathered at the base of Chiu's spine and clawed its way up his back. Faintly dizzy, he touched his lips to Fung's for a brief, warm moment. His pulse caught and quickened.

"Was it like that?" he asked, voice unsteady.

Fung, eyes wide and wary, shook his head. Chiu licked his lips and kissed him again, a bit more pressure this time, a longer moment. The heat in his skin tickled from the inside out, made him shiver.

When he broke the kiss, Fung closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and licked his lips.

"Like that?" Chiu asked, and Fung shook his head again. Chiu's heart pounded. "Then what was it like?" He was both afraid of and eager for the answer.

Fung opened his eyes. He smiled a little sadly and kissed Chiu gently on the forehead. "You were falling asleep. You kissed me goodnight. That's all it was, truly."

The fear, anticipation, disappointment, and wonder threatened to spin him to the floor. Fung took hold of his arms, alarm in his eyes, and Chiu saw him through a kind of bleary haze. And then Fung kissed him. The dizziness evaporated, the haze was gone. Chiu wrapped his arms around him, a rush of soothing heat flooding him at the inviting softness of Fung's lips.

"What's that?" Fung said, lifting from the kiss.

"What's what?" Chiu, drunk on heat, kissed the side of his mouth.

"Wait. I hear..." Fung let go of him and took his wrist and went over to the slanting windows. "Yes!" He grinned at Chiu and opened one of the windows. Rain poured in over them.

Chiu looked at his grin, turned his face to the sky, and let the rain beat on his face. He started laughing. Fung pulled him close again, laughing with him. They stood under the open window and kissed and, laughing, kissed again in the rain.

\-----

Chiu woke up on the floor in the living area, under an open window showing a cloudy morning sky. Fung was curled up beside him, asleep. Their clothes and skin were damp and steamy. The morning air was heavy, humid, promising more rain. Chiu smiled and lay on his side and watched Fung sleep.

Fung opened one eye. "If you tell me you were possessed last night, I'm going to hold you upside down out of the window until your wallet falls out and lands on some lucky person's head."

Chiu answered with a smug smile. "My wallet's in my coat." He touched Fung's chin and kissed him softly.

"No possession?"

"No possession."

"Good," Fung said, rolling onto his back and stretching. He reached for Chiu and Chiu slid easily into his arms, propping himself on Fung's chest. It rose and fell beneath him, living and breathing.

"But..." Chiu began, because he didn't like the uncertainty. "I still can't remember that night. Why? Why wouldn't I remember it?"

Fung blinked at him, frowning while he thought it over. "I don't know," he said at last.

Chiu laughed, giddy.

"What?" Fung said, raising up on his arms.

Chiu touched the tip of Fung's nose. "You don't have all the answers. I guess that's what I like about you, because I don't have the answers, either."

Fung grinned and pulled a lock of his hair. "Of course you don't, old-timer. Think we should start on the painting?"

Chiu yawned and stretched and said, "I suppose we should."

Fung bought paint while Chiu changed into old clothes and covered the floor with newspapers and towels he didn't mind throwing out. They spent the morning painting, and the repetitive task sent Chiu's thoughts back along other paths.

"Maybe," he said, "I don't want to remember because of Danielle."

Fung's paint roller slowed on the wall. "Sure," he said at last.

Chiu watched him. "Danielle said something to me that night I haven't been able to forget. She said I have one life for you and one life for her, and I don't live them together."

Fung dipped his roller into the paint. "You want to keep her separate from all this. I can understand." He concentrated on painting, his brow furrowed. "Ghosts and demons and everything. Danielle's a nice girl, and you don't want her mixed up with that."

"Well, she already has been," Chiu said, "but yeah, that's part of it. Her life is pretty and clean and safe. I like her life. I like her. But..." He hesitated, and Fung looked at him. "But I don't want to stay there. I like this life, too."

Fung eased the roller over the wall. "She could live in this life, you know," he said carefully. "I'm sure it's not easy working in a hospital. A lot of death, a lot of ghosts there. She's stronger than you think."

Chiu toyed with the roller in his hand. Paint spattered across his feet. "Yeah, I know. I'm just not sure I want her to live here, in this life. In my world. Our world."

Fung lowered his roller and gave him a quiet, serious look. "You don't have to decide that today."

"I know," Chiu said, grateful. He knew he wasn't ready for such a decision yet, but thought that perhaps one day he would be. He painted another section of wall, over the faint lines of the word 'you'. "But what about--" he started and stopped, thinking it was none of his business.

Fung stretched to paint over the highest lines. "What about what?"

"You don't seem very confused. What about Betty?" He focused on rolling the paint over the same spot and didn't look at Fung.

"Betty's a great girl," Fung said. "I like her." He paused and Chiu glanced over. Fung gave him a curious look. "Oh, you think I'm going to marry her?" he asked with a laugh of disbelief.

"Why not? She's a nice girl," Chiu said a little defensively. He didn't think it was that unlikely an idea. "The next love of your life, right?"

"No, it's not her," Fung said easily, half-smiling, giving Chiu a long look. Chiu felt heat on his cheeks, and couldn't decide if he wanted this moment to end immediately or last forever.

"How could I tell?" he muttered at last, pushing the roller over another stubborn spot on the wall. "All those dates, all those trips to the bakery."

Fung set his roller down and put his hands on his back and stretched. "You remember the first time we went to that bakery? We both had the moon cake, and you said it was the best sweet you'd ever tasted."

Chiu vaguely remembered it; what he remembered more was Fung flirting with Betty.

"That's when I decided," Fung said. "I already knew how to cook, but I didn't know how to make pastries. I wanted to learn so I could make you the same kind of sweet. I got Betty to teach me. But it's harder than it looks. I haven't gotten beyond making the filling yet."

Chiu stared at him and lowered his roller. Paint dripped on his toes and he set it in the paint tray. "You-- You did all of that? So you could make me a pastry?"

"Yeah." Fung smiled at him.

"You are such a girl," Chiu said, pointing at him.

Fung laughed. "Me? You're the one who made his own ghost a woman." He ducked as Chiu threw a towel at him. Chiu chased him to the kitchen. Fung volleyed a sponge at his head and scooted away, back into the living area. Chiu aimed a near-miss kick at him.

"Wait, wait," Fung said, laughing. He pointed at the floor. "Look."

There were white footprints all over the floor from Chiu's paint-spattered feet. He sighed and sank to the sofa. Fung sat down next to him and handed him a towel. Chiu wiped his feet, casting Fung a sharp look. "This is your fault. You're cleaning it up."

"I think it looks kind of cool. An abstract floor design."

Chiu pushed the towel at him and got paint on his shirt. Fung grimaced at him in mock rage, and Chiu laughed at him. They sprawled on the sofa and stared at the wall together.

"We didn't do very well, did we?" Fung said.

"At least it's covered up."

"I don't ever want to sleep in a room that says 'I hate you' again."

Chiu looked at him. "You won't have to. I promise."

Fung raised an eyebrow, but smiled softly at him. Chiu smiled back and felt like kissing him, so he did. And he thought, they could kiss like this everyday, for the rest of their lives if they wanted to.

"You," he said to Fung.

Fung grinned. "Are very annoying?"

_Are alive_, Chiu thought. "That, too," he said.

(the end)


End file.
